There Will Be No Tears For Adelaide
by AddienaTheBlueSpirit
Summary: The "Mad Dog of Venice" saw the error of her ways, called it quits, and was punished. But there will be no tears shed for her. Tragedy/Hurt/Comfort/Crime/Suspense blend. Post "Welcome to Phantomhive Manor" OVA. Eventually will be the story of her becoming the "Mad Dog of Venice". Eventual Onesided Druitt/MDV, and implied Soma/MDV. R&R please!


**There Will Be No Tears for Adelaide**

**By Addiena the Blue Spirit**

**Summary: The "Mad Dog of Venice" saw the error of her ways, called it quits, and was punished. But there will be no tears shed for her. **

**Tragedy/Hurt/Comfort/Crime/Suspense blend.**

There will be no tears shed for her. She knew this from the beginning. No one would cry for her. No one would care enough to shed a drop of their precious moist emotion. Regardless, she reaches for the old brass handle of the familiar antique door.

There is no hesitation in her action. A deep breath and the door, with it's green paint peeling off in places, swings open with a loud creak. Behind a large mahogany desk is Azurro Vanel. She doesn't seem to falter, even when she sees his lips curl in sadistic pleasure-filled smirk.

He can smell fear, or that is what she thinks. Watching him as he looks her over like the predator she knows he is.

He's like a wild animal. Feral, cold, cruel, ruthless. But so is she… the only difference is that she is of a different breed. She is little more than a domesticated hunting dog when placed next to a feral beast like Azurro. They both know this as he rises to his feet.

He is larger than her. Older. Stronger. Never the less, she stands her ground. Her eyes follow him around the room. Never breaking contact with him longer than it takes to blink. Mentally bracing herself for the result of her failure. It doesn't come. Not right away, at least. Instead Azurro taunts her.

He keeps her in suspense. This is the worst part, she tells herself. The anticipation of what is to come. She knows this and she knows that Azurro knows this, and he uses this to his advantage. He is playing with her, knowing full well that she is aware of her fate. He knows that she excepts it. To him, that makes the game more fun.

He circles her. Taunting her. Azurro smirks, knowing full well that he has her cornered. He enjoys watching her struggle against her own instincts. He watches with a perverse sense of pleasure as she denies herself the natural Fight or Flight response. She's smart, and he can't can't help but to see it. Even now, she's doing what she knows he wants.

It almost makes him regret the nature of the game at hand. Almost. Weather she knows it or not, she's punishing him as much as he's punishing her. At last, she sees he's growing bored, and the moment both were waiting for has arrived.

She feels the books shelf behind her for something anything. Eyes growing wide as he comes at her. Her hand closes around a letter opener. The old-fashioned kind, very similar to her usual knife and he opens the door and she knows that their game has begun.

She finally gives in to her instincts and runs. The dress she wears catching on her heels, causing her to stumble. She keeps going, she refuses to slow down as she rips the dress. She races against a clock that has been set against her.

Azurro is set to win. He always wins. She stands no real chance against him in this contest. He merely enjoys the thrill of the chase. He gets a sick pleasure of guessing where she'll end up. Using the terrain of his mansion against her. Against his prey.

She can't bring herself to panic. It won't do any good anyway. Azurro is strolling slowly after her as she runs. Zig-zagging through a labyrinth of corridors she vaguely remembers being in once before. The game is rigged. She must win to get out- or was it get out to win? She can't remember. All she knows is that she cannot win. That there is no way out. There never really was.

He has her caged, like the domesticated animal she is. He knows by now where she will head. The stairs. She was the kind to try to make the boldest possible move. She would walk right out the front door if he let her. so he waits in the shadows.

She hears him before she sees him. Azurro's Italian leather dress shoes leave a distinct echo on the marble floors of the hall way. Never the less she doesn't keep running. She's too tired to try and escape any further. She has lost, or so he thinks.

She still clutches the letter opener tightly in her hand. Which she held closely to her chest as she listens to him approaching. She wants to fight him, but she waits. Intent on making her attack count. For she knew that there would only be one split second that, with out hesitation, could be the difference between life and death.

Azurro stops walking and spins her around to face him. She is shocked, her free hand held tightly in his grasp. She lunges forward, feeling her left wrist snap as her letter open makes contact with it's target.

He shoves her backward. She stumbles, the heels of her shoes causing her ankle to twist. Hitting the banister sending sheer pain to her leg with a sinister snap.

Falling…Falling… Falling backward she knows she has maybe seconds left, but she smirks. For she sees Azurro -letter opener in driven into his ribcage- as he watches her fall to her death.

As she falls, he follows on the stairs. One flight down and he moves slower than normal. Two and he's gripping tightly to the banister. Three and she is glad to see he's using his all to hold himself up. Four and he's clutching his open wound, the weapon still barred deep in his flesh. Another half a flight and he stops. and she lands on the foot of the stairs. Her head hitting the marble floors below.

"Tutte le ultime parole*?"

That is the question he asks, and in the remains of her conscious mind she finds this a vaguely funny thing for a dying man to ask.

She answers him, simple and off hand, "Considerate questo le mie dimissioni formali**."

He doesn't have enough in him to show it, but finds this to be almost amusing as she found his question. Neither is really shocked by the other's calm when faced with death. They both had foreseen this end to their game.

They stay in comfortable silence in their last moments. A wild beast and a hunting dog, having given their all in a fight. Both coming out on the bottom. Came out as equals. No one will know who is the first to fade away. Either way, they are gone. Two people that know one will miss.

In the end, there will be no tears shed for Adelaide. No one cares enough to waste their tears on a hunting dog like her. One who will follow her master right into her own grave. There will be no one to remember her. To miss her. She is fairly sure of that as her life flashes before her eyes…

**A/N: Should I write what drove "Adelaide" to be a trained killer? I'm not really sure… But I have some ideas for her past. **

*** "Tutte le ultimo parole?" - Italian for "Any last words?"**

**** "Considerate quest le mie dimissioni formali."- Italian for "Consider this my formal resignation.**


End file.
